Wilson's Trials
by Wandergirl108
Summary: Adjacent to "Wilson's Ordeal", this is the story of Wilson's journey through Adventure Mode. It begins long after the most recent chapter of "Wilson's Ordeal", so be prepared for a large jump in time, knowledge, and reasoning; I will get around to filling in the gaps later.


Wilson tugged at his breezy vest. There was a slight chill in the air, and it wasn't even dusk yet. It would be winter again soon. He'd manage if he made it back home in three or four days' time - he had grown his beard to its full length and brought a heat stone with him, after all, and he had enough wood and grass - but he couldn't stay out much longer.

He was, as always, searching for a way out. He _knew_ there had to be a way, somewhere. This strange, fake world never seemed to end, but it _had_ to - even the real world had limits.

Wilson had all but lost count of the days that went by in a fraction of the time they should have, had all but grown accustomed to twenty short days of summer and sixteen shorter - and more brutal - days of winter. He just barely remembered his home, the real world, but the memories were distant. He guessed he'd spent a year's worth of time here, if not more.

Survival here took so much effort, his scouting missions could only go a few days at a time before he had to return home. Whether it was injuries from hounds and spiders (and sometimes other things), lack of food, shortage of materials, or just the simple fact that he couldn't stray far from his home base in the wintertime, Wilson had never managed to trek more than three days from his shelter before needing to turn around. Magic had helped once he'd discovered enough to start using it, but it was pricy, and Wilson had determined to stop taking any sort of risks after the touchstones had all been used up - even if he found another one, it would be too far from home to be of any help. Yes, he had a meat effigy at his home base, but meat was a commodity he had to use sparingly - as was wood - and the use of the effigy was even pricy in and of itself (not to mention very painful); he had to play it on the safe side.

This outing was different, though. He'd taken care to bring along only the essentials for survival out in the wilderness on this trip - he hadn't even brought Otto von Chesterfield with him, since he had no space in his pockets for the Eye Bone and had decided to forego taking a backpack so he could bring warm clothing. He had been out for three days now, and he knew he could still manage one more day before he had to head back. Cutting it close, maybe, but by his calculations, not too close to be a real risk.

He was currently in a forest. Not a particularly remarkable one - the evergreens were the normal sort, saplings and some grass grew, flowers and mushrooms were scattered here and there, and overall the forest was forest-y but not too dense.

…No, wait a minute. The trees got denser just ahead - more dense than Wilson had ever seen them before.

The monotony of the land was something Wilson had rarely seen broken, once he'd learned the general rules, and here was something different. He picked up his pace slightly, hardly daring to believe that maybe he'd finally found something new, even an exit.

Then he saw the flowers, and he stopped in his tracks.

_Evil flowers._ He'd seen their like in Maxwell's cemetery, but nowhere else. _There's something through those trees that Maxwell wants protected._

Against his will, Wilson felt his hope rise. He knew it was too much to hope that he might actually have found a way home, but still, those flowers marked something significant, he was certain of that much.

He took a breath and forced himself to approach the copse of trees, evil flowers and all. He tried - and, as always, failed - not to let the evil flowers' noxious odors mess with his head; there was no help for it, but he needed to see…

He pushed through the dense trees…and found the very same machine he'd built in his home all that time ago, the one that had brought him here.

It unfolded as he drew near, opening like a gateway. The pieces started whirring and turning as the machine entered a sort of standby mode, ready to be activated. Just beneath the sounds of the machine, Wilson thought he heard something else, too…Something very faint, which somehow made him think of failure and despair but was also strangely nostalgic.

_I'm not sure I want to fall for this a second time,_ Wilson thought, eyeing the lever on the side of the machine. _Still…if this thing brought me here, it's not too unreasonable to guess that it might bring me home. At any rate, the evil flowers here mean that Maxwell…_probably_ doesn't want me using this._ He shook his head, trying to clear it of the scent of the flowers, but was unsuccessful. He couldn't think clearly…but…there was a chance, just a small chance, that this would take him home.

Was it worth the risk?

Wilson struggled to think through the dark auras muddling his brain. It took him a minute, but he finally made up his mind. He looked at the lever…and raised his hand.

Yes. It was worth the risk.

He threw the lever.

Just like the first time, shadows of hands slid out from under the machine, then rose in the air around Wilson and fastened themselves around him. Alarmed, Wilson struggled for a moment, then closed his eyes and braced himself.

Then, everything went black.

~o~

Just as when he had first arrived in the fake world that had become his prison, the first thing Wilson was aware of when he started to come to was a voice that he by now knew belonged to Maxwell.

"Oh, you found my portal, did you?" Wilson's captor said, sounding slightly amused. "You'd think you would have learned your lesson by now."

Wilson struggled to regain consciousness. He was vaguely aware of the sound of a campfire burning nearby.

"Hmm," Maxwell purred sinisterly. "Let's try something a little more challenging, shall we?"

Wilson heard a noise - not the _poof!_ sound he had heard the first time, but something between a whoosh of wind and the chime of a bell. Only then did he manage to push himself up into a sitting position, open his eyes, and rise to his feet.

He looked around.

Yes, there was a campfire burning right beside him, strangely. A yard or two away, a brand-new axe, already crafted, was sticking out of the ground. As for the ground itself, it was patches of grass, almost in a pattern of sorts, in the middle of a forest.

_What does "something a little more challenging" mean?_ Wilson wondered; it actually looked like Maxwell was giving him advantages out of nowh-

Suddenly, Wilson's eyes widened, and he patted his torso and pockets.

_Where's all my stuff?!_

Gone. All of it was gone. Even his beard was gone - when he felt his face, he found that he was completely clean-shaven. All he had was the clothes he'd been wearing when he first came to this fake dimension.

He looked up, gauging the air temperature and the speed of the sun moving across the sky. _It feels like the beginning of summer,_ he thought, confused. _Am I being forced to simply…start over? If so, why is he giving me an axe already made, right off the bat? And why the campfire?_ He was sure he could use the ash - it took two handfuls of ash, as well as one spider gland and a rock, to make salve, he knew, but even one handful of ash would be…

…Wait. How was he supposed to make salve, again?

He couldn't remember.

Alarmed, Wilson racked his brains, trying to remember how to turn ash and venom into a salve that would heal his injuries quickly. He couldn't remember. With a sense of dread, he tried to recall how to make any of the number of things he'd been shown how to create using a science or magic machine.

Gone. All of the knowledge was gone. He could make new machines, gather the materials, and re-learn the recipes, yes, but he would have to start all over again.

Why? More importantly, _how_?

And why was Maxwell giving him a brand-new axe?

What was going on?

Suddenly, Wilson noticed something else in the small patch of grass he was standing in. It looked like his old radio from back home, but on a long, thin, crooked rod. It was standing upright, held in place by a black and red stand of some sort.

_That looks like it will be useful,_ Wilson thought, and he walked over and removed the device.

As soon as it was in his hand, the radio started giving off a faint, low-pitched bleeping sound, very slowly. The device also seemed to hum in his hand a little. It seemed like it was picking up some sort of signal, but the signal was clearly very faint.

_This is some sort of homing device,_ Wilson thought as the stand that had held the device disintegrated into nothingness, unnoticed by him. _What will it lead me to?_

In any case, it wasn't going to help him survive, so he pocketed the device and went to pick up the axe - his magic pockets still worked, at any rate. _If I'm starting again, I need grass, twigs, logs, flint, and food,_ Wilson thought. _I'll need to find boulders with gold in them eventually so I can build a new science machine and re-learn how to make things, but light to keep the night monster away and food so I don't starve are immediate priorities._

_…I know all this. I'm familiar with how this world works - I won't be stumbling through almost blindly like I was when I first came here._

_What's the challenge?_

In any case, Wilson started chopping down trees, stopping momentarily to grab the ash when the fire burnt itself out. He knew by now that the most efficient thing to do was cut down young evergreens - the amount of logs he'd get from chopping would be twenty no matter what, but leaving behind twenty stumps to come back for later, once he made a shovel, was the best idea. He also grabbed some grass and twigs from the nearby saplings and grass patches.

Simple. _Too_ simple.

He finished using the axe he had been given to its limit, when suddenly, it started to rain. Wilson sighed. He really hated getting rained on - it always served to remind him that he didn't have a roof to get under, anywhere. All the same, he gathered the last of the logs and started walking, keeping an eye out for more resources to gather.

After a minute, the rain was coming down in buckets - Wilson had rarely seen such heavy rain. He also couldn't help but notice that there seemed to be no more saplings to be found from which he could gather twigs, even though he was in a forest, which didn't help his mood at all. There were flowers here and there, though, and by now, he knew the rules, so he picked every flower he found in hopes of getting enough to make a garland.

Eventually the forest gave way to a meadow, and with the meadow came carrots, flint, and more of every type of resource.

…Except saplings, apparently. There were still none to be seen.

_Did Maxwell take away all the saplings except the ones right by where I arrived?_ Wilson thought, getting worried; twigs were absolutely vital to his survival. _If so, __I'll have to be very careful how I use them…I can't afford to waste them on torches, when I have logs, and…_

_Plop!_

Wilson blinked at the sudden sound and turned to his left. Though there were no ponds in sight, a frog had appeared right next to him. He quickly shied away from it before it could decide to attack.

_Plop!_

Wilson jumped and looked behind him. Another frog.

_Plop! Plop! Plop!_

Wilson saw the third frog as it appeared, so he could see that it fell out of the sky…as did the fourth, fifth, sixth…

It was literally raining frogs.

_Okay, challenge acknowledged!_ Wilson thought. No twigs, and raining frogs. Wonderful. Maxwell wasn't just giving him a challenge, he was being downright unfair.

_I really hate that guy._


End file.
